


Short-sighted

by RuArcher (Coriesocks)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eavesdropping, Harry Potter Thinks Draco Malfoy is Up to Something, Harry is not obsessed, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Potions Accident, Togas, Voyeurism, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21350707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coriesocks/pseuds/RuArcher
Summary: When Harry was shrunk down to the size of a mouse after a freak accident in his eighth year potions class, he never could have predicted the opportunities that presented themselves.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 492
Collections: I Love This / Made me emotional





	Short-sighted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jeldenil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeldenil/gifts).

> Based on a prompt from Jeldenil: Classic potions incident prompt: Harry accidentally gets shrunken down to the size of a mouse, and uses the opportunity to sneak in Malfoy's book satchel to spy on him. Because Malfoy is definitely Up To Something (TM)
> 
> Thank you to the lovely a_reader_and_writer and my beautiful fandom wife, Quicksilvermaid, for the speedy betas ❤️

Harry was scared at first when the world whooshed past his ears and he found himself engulfed in darkness. A cacophony of muffled screams and shouts filled his ears, followed by the screech and thud of stools toppling and the dull clang of heavy objects hitting desks. The ground juddered beneath him as what felt like a herd of Erumpents thundered past. He froze, temporarily unsure of whether to flee or stay put, but then there was silence. 

He sucked in a few shaky breaths as he worked on slowing his racing heart. If he was going to get out of this—whatever _this_ was—he needed to stay calm. He wasn’t injured, as far as he could tell, but he had no idea where he was. Wherever it was, it was hot and dark, and his skin felt weird and tingly. And sticky. And… shit. He wasn’t, was he? 

Harry’s stomach plummeted. It was too dark to see, so he tentatively brushed a hand over his chest—feeling coarse hair, a nipple, goose pimples—and confirmed his worst fears. He was stark bollock naked. And—he patted the floor around him, which was weirdly soft and fabric-like, tried a quick, futile _Accio_— _fuck!_ Wandless. 

A cursory face-pat informed him that he was also glasses-less. _FUCK._ And to add further injury, his hand came away covered in an oily, foul-smelling substance. He took a few steadying breaths and tried to think rationally. He had obviously been attacked, stripped, and disarmed, but why? And what was that horrid stuff in his hair and dripping down his face? And why oh why did it feel like the world had been smothered with a thick, black duvet? One minute, he’d been at the workstation he shared with Malfoy—thank you, Slugface for that particular joy—and then the next he was here, wherever _here_ was. 

“Harry? Harry! Are you there? If you can hear me, please, please say something or make some sort of sound. Harry!”

The voice—_Hermione’s_ voice—sounded weird, like she was shouting into an empty oil drum, only far away, but it was unmistakably her. No one else managed to inject such concern and despair into their tone. Harry relaxed at once because if he had to be trapped in this nowhere place, at least he was trapped with the one person who reasonably stood a chance of getting them out, unless… shit. What if she was naked too? Should he tell her to shut her eyes? Ugh. Ridiculous. It wasn’t like there was any light to see by. Even so, he self-consciously cupped his cock and balls as he called out his reply.

“’Mione? Where are you? I can’t see anything!”

“Harry?” Her voice seemed to be getting quieter, like she was moving further away and Harry felt the glimmer of hope start to trickle away. 

Shit shit shit. “Hermione!” Nothing. Abandoning all hope of decency, Harry raised his hands and held them curved around his mouth, then took in a deep breath and, “HERMIONE!”

“Harry? Was that you? Harry! Oh, Merlin. Don’t worry. I‘m going to find you. Stay where you are and don’t move, but keep talking.”

The world shifted and jostled around him as he rambled on about what he was going to have for breakfast for the next week, and then suddenly everything was bright. He blinked and rubbed his eyes before remembering the nakedness situation and hurriedly covering himself up again.

“Oh my…”

“Mione? What’s going on?” Harry still couldn’t make out what was going on as his glasses were still very much absent, but he could hear Hermione talking very quickly to someone, her voice still sounding like it was far away, but loud, and everywhere all at once.

“Don’t worry Harry, Slughorn has gone to fetch McGonagall, but in the meantime, I’m going to take you to Pomfrey. He assures me that this will wear off with no ill-effects, but the man is a blundering idiot so I think I’ll take everything he says with a healthy dose of caution. You’re going to be fine though!” she added quickly.

“What—” Before Harry could finish his question, a shadow fell over him and something large—a blanket, or bed sheet perhaps, was wrapped around him. Then the world juddered again and his stomach lurched as he was swept off his feet, landing on his back in a tangle of sheets. The floor beneath him was soft— it felt like sitting on a half-deflated bouncy castle—and it was weirdly warm. “What the hell is going on, ‘Mione?” He tugged the sheet more securely around his waist to hide his bits then yelped as he felt something drop into his hand. His glasses!

He slid them back on. And immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Hi.” The word gusted warm and damp over him. Hermione’s face was _huge._ It filled the room. Harry couldn’t even take it all in without turning his head.

“What the— Why are you so big? What the fuck is going on?”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I’m not big, Harry. You’re small. Look.”

The warm, squashy platform he was sitting on—Hermione’s hand, his mind supplied—swung to the side and he saw that yes, either the potions classroom, and everything in it, had grown, or he’d been shrunk down to the size of a dormouse. He stared in amazement at the sheer size of all the everyday objects; stools as high as Quidditch hoops, parchment as wide as a corridor, and the quills! He doubted he’d even be able to lift one in his current state. There were no other students, though. Just him and Hermione. And the room had clearly been evacuated in a hurry, what with all the belongings scattered everywhere. Unless… was everyone else was tiny too? He turned to ask Hermione whether he was the only one when his gaze lit upon his and Malfoy’s desk, the epicentre of the mess, streaked with thick, blackish-green, oozy liquid.

“We’re not sure what happened,” Hermione boomed, catching his unvoiced question, “but we think yours and Malfoy’s potion was tampered with because yours is the only one to have exploded and he assures us—”

“Wait, Malfoy got shrunk too? Where is he?”

Hermione’s eyes darted away from his and she pursed her lips. “He’s… He’s fine— he was on the other side of the classroom when the accident happened. A few people around you got splattered on their robes, but you got the lion’s share, as it were, right in the face. It seems to need skin contact to activate so you’re actually the only one who… You know…”

A wave of familiar anger swept through Harry. “How convenient.”

“What?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious? Malfoy just happening to be well away from our cauldron when it went off?”

“Harry…”

“I’m telling you! He’s up to—”

“Something. Yes, yes, so you keep saying, but honestly, he looked as shocked as anyone else when the blasted thing exploded. And you should have seen his face when we realised you’d disappeared. It was a struggle to even get him to evacuate—Pansy and Blaise practically had to manhandle him from the classroom!”

“Probably just wanted to stay and finish me off, no doubt,” Harry grumbled. He glared down at his desk, ideas of retribution playing through his mind. He watched as the spilt potion dripped thickly from the desk and onto his bag before dribbling lazily to the floor. Bloody great. And _of course,_ Malfoy’s bag was fine, tucked neatly under the other side of the desk, completely gunk free. He _had_ to be behind this. There was no other explanation! He’d been so quiet since the start of the year—always turning up to class on time, never speaking out of place or making snarky comments, always putting his hand up to answer questions. He was definitely plotting something. Was this it, perhaps? Was this potions ‘accident’ his big plan? Well, Harry had him now. It hadn’t finished him off the way Malfoy had clearly desired, so now Harry could show everyone that the blond prick still shouldn’t be trusted.

He looked at Malfoy’s bag, sitting open on the floor, and grinned as a plan began to take shape.

~

It wasn’t a comfortable ride, not by any stretch, but Harry was prepared to suffer a little discomfort in order to finally get the evidence he needed to prove Malfoy was scheming again. Hermione hadn’t been happy about it. She had, in fact, tried to actively discourage him by promising they’d investigate together once Harry was Harry-sized again, and then threatened to put him in a jar until McGonagall arrived when he’d refused. But Harry managed to talk her around in the end with the assurance that it was just a reconnaissance mission, and that he wouldn’t try anything stupid. She hadn’t seemed keen to believe his word until he pointed out that he was currently wearing a hankie as a toga and stood at less than three inches tall so he was hardly going to try anything too risky. 

He definitely wouldn’t be recommending travel-by-satchel anytime soon, though. After only a few minutes of sitting in the quill pocket of Malfoy’s satchel while Malfoy went about his day, Harry rapidly concluded—while he clenched his teeth to stop from biting his tongue for the hundredth time—that Malfoy’s gait was far more graceful when experienced from a safe distance. Eventually, and not before time, there was a moment of free-fall where Harry’s stomach lodged up between his ears, and then a thunk as the Advanced Potions textbook that had been battering his body for the last however-long hit something hard and solid—the floor?—and the bag stilled. Harry waited a few minutes and then peeked out from beneath the flap to find he was in the Slytherin common room. 

There wasn’t much Harry could see without giving away his position—something he really didn’t want to do since he had no doubt the Slytherins wouldn’t hesitate to squish him into the rug—but he clambered out of the pocket as far as he dared and took a better look around. He quickly discovered that Malfoy had dropped his bag onto the floor by an armchair, but he couldn’t tell who most of the legs he could see belonged to. There was no mistaking Malfoy with his slender ankles and those stupid pointy shoes he favoured, though. The ridiculous brightly patterned socks were a dead giveaway too. One of his feet tapped the floor restlessly and Harry gritted his teeth against the gnawing irritation that flared the longer the jiggling continued.

Without the movement of the bag rustling in his ears, Harry found he could actually make out the conversations around him now. He forced his attention away from Malfoy’s perfectly turned ankle and tuned in to listen to whatever trite nonsense the Slytherins were talking about.

He caught his name spat from Malfoy's lips, and he could just imagine the expression that accompanied it; the haughty sneer, a look of supreme distaste. What followed next caught him by surprise, though.

"...idiot Potter. Can't keep himself out of trouble for two minutes. What did he think he was playing at?"

“Slughorn still has no idea what happened?” A female voice chimed in. Pansy, probably. She was always sniffing around Malfoy, draping herself over him in a pathetically desperate display. What did Malfoy see in her?

“Obviously. The man’s a fool. All that simpering at the Golden Trio’s sainted feet has turned his head soft. They’re all the same, the professors. Not one of them has any idea what's happened. Best magical school in Europe, my arse! And what are they doing teaching such dangerous potions anyway? If Snape was here, he'd never have let a half-wit like Potter anywhere near something so volatile." 

"Aw, love, anyone would think you were worried," Pansy purred and Harry bristled at her tone, he could readily picture her hands, fingernails like talons, pawing at Draco’s arm in faux-sympathy. It made his skin crawl, and something darker—_uglier_—writhe inside him.

"Fuck off, Pans. I most certainly am _not_ worried. I’m pissed off. Did you see how close I came to being doused by the same mixture? Do you have any idea how expensive these shoes are? Potter and his idiocy could have ruined them!"

“Perhaps Potter and his idiocy can make it up to you.” 

Harry very much did _not_ like her tone. What was she implying? He would never— 

“_Perhaps_ Potter and his idiocy can fuck right off,” Malfoy growled, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief because no, thank you. No matter how… _subjectively_ attractive Malfoy was these days…

"Nevermind,” a third voice chipped in. Blaise? It was a deep, rumbling voice that was the vocal equivalent of a bear hug—soft, warm, spiked with danger. “With any luck, he'll be gone for good. His knack for survival has to have worn thin by now." 

_Charming!_ Harry had half a mind to spring out of his hiding place and prove Blaise wrong. Fuck him and his stupid sexy voice.

"Don't be ridiculous,” Malfoy snapped. “He's not gone. He's probably hiding somewhere. Cowed by shame or celebrating his idiotic little stunt with the other gryffindorks."

Blaise hmm’d and Harry ignored the way the sound made his stomach quiver. “I don't know. Neville seemed really worried when I spoke to him earlier. I think they've actually gone and lost him this time."

"What?" Draco’s surprised question echoed the one in Harry’s mind, although his was concerning the revelation that Blaise and Neville were talking. How long had _that_ been going on?

"Yeah, he said McGoggles was in a right flap about it. Old Slughorn might even get the sack."

"Serves him right too. Never should have left Potter unsupervised. He knows the idiot's a liability." Draco’s foot hit the floor mere centimetres from Harry’s hiding spot under the flap of the satchel, so he hurriedly scrambled back into the pocket he’d been hiding in earlier. He almost missed Pansy’s words thanks to the rustle of fabric.

"Draco, where're you going? It's not dinner yet."

"I'm going to check the classroom again. None of these so-called professors can tell their arse from their elbow. They probably didn't even think to check the properties of the tampered potion. They'll never work out an antidote without it."

Malfoy's voice grew more muffled which had to mean he was walking away. Panic began to nibble at the edges of Harry’s mind because now he was trapped in Malfoy’s unattended bag, in the middle of the Slytherin common room; if they were anything like Gryffindors, someone would slip in a few dung bombs, decoy detonators, or some other horrible prank item from Wheezes and Harry would have to flee for his life. Only the very bravest or most idiotic Gryffindor left belongings unattended in the Gryffindor common room, and surely Slytherins would be so much worse to each other—they probably slipped in live snakes or lay cursed booby-traps. Harry quickly weighed up his chances of making it out of the common room in one piece if he ran full pelt at the entrance, and was all ready to make a dash for it when Pansy brought him up short.

"You should take his bag up to your dorm. He'll no doubt be gone for hours, now he’s on a Potter crusade.”

"It's pathetic how gone he is for that boy,” Blaise replied, and Harry was jolted to the bottom of the pocket as the bag lifted off the ground. He head was spinning—and not only from the revelation that no one was booby-trapping Malfoy’s bag—because what did Blaise mean? Harry was sure he must have misheard. 

"Hmm. Kind of sweet though. Think he'll ever admit it?"

"Not a chance"

Harry couldn’t believe it. _Refused_ to believe it. But… but, yes, this was clear evidence that Malfoy was _up to something._ He’d obviously not admitted it to his friends yet, that was all. And so that was why they’d just assumed Malfoy’s weird obsession was some sort of crush (oh, the horror). This new theory buoyed Harry, and kept the panic at bay as Blaise carried him further into the snake pit, and further away from safety.

Hermione was going to kill him.

~

Blaise left Malfoy's bag on what Harry could only assume was Malfoy's bed. It smelled like him, at least; that woodsy cologne he favoured that always caught in the back of Harry’s throat. As soon as he was certain there was no one else in the dorm, Harry crawled out and headed for Malfoy's bedside table to search for evidence of any sinister plots. There was a gulf to jump across, but he made it, just about, and the reward of a chocolate bar bigger than he was made it worthwhile (not that he managed to nibble more than a corner, but it kept the hunger at bay). Unfortunately, he didn’t uncover any incriminating documents, but then he supposed it had been a little hopeful of him to expect Malfoy to keep such sensitive information out in the open. He considered embarking on a more thorough search, but was aware of time having marched on and didn’t want to risk being caught in the open by anyone returning to the dorm after dinner, so he decided he’d wait until nightfall and then use the cover of darkness to continue his investigation. 

He managed to clamber up the bed hangings—not an easy task in a hankie-toga—and found a secluded hammock-like fold of fabric at the edge of the bed canopy—thank Merlin for wizards and their love of heavy, embroidered drapery—and he ensconced himself within it. It not only provided a perfect vantage point, but it was also well-hidden, out of stomping range, and most importantly, very comfortable. Harry snuggled down into the musty fabric and let his eyes drift shut while he waited. It was exhausting being small.

By the time Malfoy finally returned, the room was busy with activity as Blaise, Goyle, and Nott all chatted and joked around while they avoided homework and got ready for bed. Malfoy barely paid them a lick of attention before drawing the curtains around his bed with a furious swish—almost dislodging Harry from his hiding spot in the process—and throwing himself face-first onto the mattress. Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear him muttering into the pillow; words like _fucking Potter, mop-haired twat,_ and _bloody incapable fools_ filtering up to his nest. He wondered what had happened to make him so arsey, but then decided that it was probably just how Malfoy behaved. Maybe someone had told him a hair on his perfect head was out of place. 

It took a while, but eventually, the room quietened down. Harry was starting to feel a little antsy, eager to move and get investigating after his little nap, but he could hardly do anything while Malfoy was still awake, so he settled in for a long wait. He knew he should get back to his dorm, let people know he was okay—Hermione and Ron would no doubt be worried and would probably want to have _words_ about how long he’d been away for—but he couldn’t afford to waste this opportunity. When else would he get the chance to scurry around the Eighth year Slytherin boy’s dorm, gathering evidence of Malfoy’s wrongdoings? It was decidedly boring, hanging out in a dusty old bed canopy all night, though, and after an hour of waiting for Malfoy to incriminate himself, Harry gave up and snuggled back down into his hammock to wait for the dorm’s occupants to fall asleep. 

After what felt like only a few minutes, something made Harry snap his eyes open, instantly alert. It was dark and for a split second, he thought he was back in the potion’s classroom again, freshly shrunk. But then he recognised the dark green and silver embroidery of the fabric surrounding him, saw the hankie-toga wrapped around him and he realised he must have fallen asleep. Again. There was a faint glow coming from somewhere and Harry looked over to see a soft, white orb hovering above the head end of the bed. Malfoy had a night light? That… was unexpected. He’d thought the boy existed by skulking in shadows, but here he was, needing a light to sleep. It almost made him seem human.

Harry stretched his arms above his head, preparing himself for the descent back down to mattress-level so he could resume his rifling through Malfoy’s possessions, but then a curious sound stopped him in his tracks. Was that a… _groan?_ Harry covered his mouth to stifle a laugh because _was Malfoy having a wet dream??_ Oh, this was hilarious. Horrifically embarrassing, but still, hilarious. A rustle of fabric, another soft groan. Harry carefully peered over the side of his makeshift-hammock, interest piqued and almost choked on his tongue. Malfoy had kicked his blankets to the end of the bed, his pyjama bottoms were halfway down his thighs, and he was writhing—_writhing!_—on his bed, his eyes clenched shut. One hand was wrapped around his flushed, hard prick—which was currently staring Harry square in the face—while the other cupped his balls, rolling and tugging the skin, searching fingers dipping into the darkness beneath. 

Harry watched, completely spellbound, unable to tear his eyes away as Malfoy played with himself. Merlin, how he wished that was his hand wrapped around Malfoy’s cock; his fingers teasing Malfoy’s entrance; him making Malfoy groan like that… _Shit._ What was he thinking?? He could feel himself thickening, his cock getting heavy between his legs. Those gutteral sounds of Malfoy’s rumbling through his groin. He desperately wanted to touch himself, but he couldn’t really do anything without shuffling around to change position, and that would mean taking his eyes off the show… but maybe he should look away? It was probably a bit wrong to watch another guy jerk off when he didn't know you were watching. Especially when said guy was your sworn enemy. He could just imagine Hermione's disapproving glare—she was already going to be pissed off that he'd not returned to Gryffindor tower _or_ gone to see Pomfrey. Merlin, he was so screwed. He didn’t fancy Malfoy. He _didn’t._ But there was no denying the bastard was fit. And like this? Merlin’s balls... Malfoy looked absolutely wrecked. Skin flushed and damp, hair mussed and fanned out on his pillow, and those noises—the little whimpers and gasps—it was as if Harry’s most hidden, most sordid wank fantasy had come to life right before his sex-starved eyes. 

The hand on Malfoy’s dick sped up and he thrust up into the circle of his fist, his movements becoming more uncoordinated, his groans more desperate. Harry bit down on his lip to prevent any answering sounds escaping him as he mirrored Malfoy’s movements with his own jerky ruts. There was nowhere near enough friction on the side of the hammock though, and he was just about to abandon the show to lie back and take care of matters, when— 

“Potter, _fuck._ What are you doing to me?” Malfoy’s voice was strained and urgent, barely above a whisper, but Harry heard every word as if it was hissed directly into his ear.

Surely, Malfoy didn’t _like_ him. Was this part of his evil plan? Did he know Harry was here, watching him, and so was trying to wind him up? It had to be a wind-up. It _had_ to be.

Through the haze of his shock, Harry distantly became aware of a tingling, a fizzy, electric feeling starting at the tips of his fingers that steadily crept down his arms. It was sufficiently weird enough to distract him from his Malfoy dilemma, and he reluctantly tore his eyes away from Malfoy’s cock to check he wasn’t covered in tiny ants. Suddenly his whole body felt tight, like he was being squeezed and inflated at the same time, and the tingling morphed into a painful burning as every muscle in his body chose that moment to stretch. 

He had just enough time to register everything around him shrinking when he fell. Down from the canopy, and onto the bed. Where Malfoy was currently mid-orgasm, striping his pyjama top with come. 

Malfoy's eyes snapped open the instant before impact, his face a picture of abject horror, the strangled cry of _"Potter??!!"_ filling the air.

Harry landed with a muffled whumpf, his face smacking into Malfoy's elbow. Malfoy yelped and tried to scrabble away from him. And the hankie Harry had been wrapped in fluttered briefly in the air before landing on Malfoy's chest, just in time for Harry to remember that he was naked. And still sporting something of an erection. 

He hurriedly pushed himself upright and shuffled back, away from Malfoy, grabbing a corner of duvet and holding it against his groin.

“Er, hi.” Harry waved. “You called?”

“What the fu—”

~

** _~A few weeks later ~_ **

“I’m telling you, he’s up to something,” Harry said, tapping his finger on the table for emphasis.

Ron and Hermione rolled their eyes in unison. “It’s Christmas. You’d be disappointed if he _wasn’t_ up to something,” Hermione said

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t look at me, mate.” Ron held his hand up and shook his head. Some friend he was. “It’s more than my life’s worth to reveal any details about your boyfriend’s present to you,” 

“And speak of the devil…” Hermione smiled brightly as she looked at someone over Harry’s shoulder.

“Who’s the devil?” Draco asked, slipping into the empty spot beside Harry and pecking him on the cheek.

“You. It’s always you,” Harry replied, returning Draco’s kiss with one slightly less chaste, but still just about acceptable for the dinner table (as long as no teachers happened to be glancing in their direction). He grinned as Draco squeezed his leg before turning to Hermione to start talking about their Arithmancy project. They never did find out what happened to the potion in the end, but the rumour was that Slughorn had been buying ingredients on the black market; a rumour spurred on by his swift retirement from teaching. Draco had wanted the man strung up before the Wizengamot, but Harry couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. He’d never be less than eternally thankful for the day he crashed naked into Draco’s bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/coriesocks) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/coriesocks) @coriesocks <3


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